Gone
by daytimedrama
Summary: Story in Three Parts:  New York, Montana, Home. DannyLindsay, Can they get back what they lost?
1. New York

A/N: Okay I decided to reorganize, these three short stories work together nicely so I'm putting them together. I don't work with plots, only emotions and snippets of the lives of Danny and Lindsay. Thanks for reading!

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New York

The postmark was New York. She recognized his handwriting immediately. Her hands shook as she turned the large brown envelope over. She opened the envelope and was disappointed when she saw the contents fall to the floor. Mail. He was forwarding her mail. The tears fell unabashedly down her cheeks, as her fingers traced the handwritten address on the envelope.

She was being unreasonable. What had she hoped? That he had written her a letter begging her to return to New York. That he couldn't live without her and he realized that the moment she walked out of the apartment. That he stopped breathing when he came home to find all her stuff gone. When he saw the engagement ring in the box and not on her hand his heart broke.

She was the one who left, put this distance between them. Now she was having a hard time remembering why.

She kneeled on the floor to scoop up the mail. When her hand passed over something glossy she parted the discarded envelopes to reveal the foreign object. Her heart lurched at the sight, and the memories with him came back in a rush which left her at a loss for breath.

_They could not tear their eyes away from each other; she could remember their laughter being carried away by the brisk sea breeze. The sun was beginning to drop as they thanked the elderly couple for taking their picture. They continued their stroll down the boardwalk, their kisses, laughter and light touches warming them protecting them from the approaching night. They were happy. They are in love._


	2. Montana

8. Montana

This whole week had been a nightmare. It couldn't be real, this couldn't be happening. Two days ago he swore he had had a stroke; he was paralyzed as he thought his eyes must have been deceiving him. He had been staring at the wall in his dark apartment when he heard the door bell. He jumped up his heart lurched in hope that it would be her, coming back to talk it out. He was ready to grovel, apologize for the 50 times he had called her each day she was gone.

He had outlines of apologies all prepared, a million reasons why his life was better with her in it, why he would marry her tomorrow if it made her happy. He couldn't even remember their argument from the pain of being without her. He had already started his apology when he realized it was the mailman with a package for him to sign. Montana the postmark read. Was it an explanation? A note saying she need a few days at home, in her childhoodbedroom to relax, before she'd be ready to forgive him?

When the postman handed him a small box along with the other mail, his heart sank, she wouldn't need a whole box for a little note like that. His hands were shaking as he tore into the box and when his fingers brushed velvet he hoped that the sensation was lingering nerve damage from his previously broken hand. He took a deep breath and pulled out the velvet box. Of course he recognized it. He had carried it around in his pocket for weeks before he finally gained the courage to ask her. He didn't need to open the box, the pain of his heart break was enough without the visual reminder that he had lost her.

He sobbed. He drank. He stared. He raged. Finally he curled up on her side of the bed desperately trying to drink in her lingering scent.As the sun set, making the desperate rays of sun dancing across the wall he was reminded of another sun set, her laughter, the smell of popcorn and saltwater and the warmth of her embrace. He jumped up and scrambled through a photo album she had left. He hesitated. This was his only copy, if she was truly angry and she ripped it up it would be lost forever. Then he realized that these memories, her scent, her taste, her warmth were so firmly implanted in his mind. Then he quickly rifled through the mail trying to find hers, after all he would need a pretense for sending her a photo. This exquisite memory of their time together. A recollection of the best days of his life, those spent with her. His wish for them tomorrow. She would know. She would know exactly how he felt, exactly what thoughts, feelings this photo would conjure.


	3. Home

Home

He could slowly feel his heart begin to beat again. The echo of the dull thump reminded him that he was still alive. The pain of her absence had not stopped his heart as he had originally thought. He was so distracted by the new sensation of life beginning to course through his body that he did not recognize his own doorbell. It was minutes later before he realized what that sound meant. He hesitated, that door and that sound had brought the awful realization of this nightmare; The physical proof of her distance.

It had been two days. Somehow he had managed to call in sick to work. The consummate professional, To an extent. He gave no excuse, he was sure they could guess. Of course Stella came to check on him, probably frantically worried that he might eat his service weapon. No need. For the last two days he merely existed, on life support but without activity. He vaguely remembered Stella calling Mac, telling him that he wasn't good. He couldn't even string sentences together. He just pointed. He just pointed to the small velvet box sitting in front of him on the coffee table. He didn't need to say anything else. That would have explained everything; his sudden muteness, the rapid onset of photophobia, which would explain the complete darkness of his apartment. He hadn't checked but he had a feeling that during his time on the couch, Stella hid his steak knives and aspirin. He wasn't dead yet, he knew that, if he was he hoped that this sharp pain in his heart would have left.

It was as if all his senses were returning to him. He could feel the sensation of the blood returning to his hands. He could hear the loud thumping of his heart, and he could smell, god, he could smell the sweet scent of jasmine and honeysuckle.

Lindsay.

He jumped up. He knew she was there, he finally realized why blood began to course through his veins, and why his heart had felt compelled to beat again.

The doorbell. How long ago had he heard that noise? He pulled open the door and looked down the hallway. Empty. He ran down the hallway to the stairwell and flew down the six flights. He ran out into the street, his heart beating faster not because of the most physical exertion he had down is two days, but it was as if his heart knew she was nearby. When he ran outside into the bright sunlight be was temporarily blinded, so instead he shouted.

"Lindsay!"

As his eyes adjusted to the light he saw her turn. The sun glowed around her soft amber curls. She was so beautiful, but looked tired, as if their separation had adversely affected her as well. He knew he couldn't breathe from the pain of her absence and wondered briefly if she had done any better. He looked into her eyes and finally the sharp pain that had been the only reminder that he was alive disappeared. He was overwhelmed by sudden warmth. He could finally take a deep breath. He could feel the tears running down his face.

Suddenly she walked the two steps towards him and collapsed into his arms. Her tears seeped into his shirt as she clung to him. The beating of his heart slowed as if syncing to hers. It was as if it could only beat slowly, properly, steadily if in her presence. They clung desperately to each other. There was no need for apologies, no more arguments, their few days apart emphasized that they could not exist without the other. They were finally together, finally home.


End file.
